Aura stepped down from Falco's back, his boots touching the cold stone of the city with a quiet grace — yet the ground seemed to echo a strange sense of responsibility. Every step he took, every cobblestone beneath his feet, carried a whisper of the trials he'd endured… and the victory that had earned him his transfer from the Academy.
The trial had been brutal — harsher than anything he could have imagined. Shadows had stalked his every move, and each decision had teetered between survival and ruin. Yet, he endured. He proved himself. The Academy's reward — two hundred gold coins — was more than payment; it was recognition, a symbol that even in failure's shadow, his strength had been seen.
He'd exchanged part of it for smaller silver coins — just enough to move through the old city without drawing attention, without catching the eye of anyone who might still remember his face.
The inn he chose was old, built of stone, its doors heavy and its narrow windows opening onto fog-drenched alleys. When he entered the room and closed the door behind him, the chill of the wood pressed against his back. The silence inside was deep — almost alive — as though the walls themselves breathed in time with his own heartbeats.
He sat on the bed, eyes tracing the rough lines of the room. Every shadow, every faint crack in the wall reminded him of the forest, of the cabin, of the week of stillness he'd spent there. The air smelled faintly of damp stone — oddly comforting in its solitude.
Reaching toward the small table, he picked up a few of the silver coins and rolled them between his fingers. The soft clinking filled the silence. After so many days of quiet and uncertainty, something within him began to stir — a flicker of purpose, the weight of what was to come, and a quiet, unfamiliar fear of it.
At last, he let the thoughts fade. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and let sleep claim him — while the stone room around him listened, still and patient, as though guarding his dreams.